Halo
by Zayz
Summary: LJ song fic. "Why do you put me on a pedestal? I'm so up high that I can't see the ground below. So help me down, you've got it wrong, I don't belong there." R&R?


**A/N: When one of my good friends was over at my house a little while back, she and I were listening to music on You Tube together when she put this song on, insisting I had to hear it; I listened to the first few lines, loved the tune, and then looked up the lyrics. Obviously, I caught on to the possibilities I could exploit, and I knew I just had to try this out. Plus, it matches my current mood – angsty over a boy that shouldn't matter. Enjoy, my dears, and remember to review!**

**Song Title: **Halo  
**Artist:** Bethany Joy Lenz  
**Album:** One Tree Hill, Season 4  
**Ship:** LJ  
**Told As:** Lily  
**Length:** One-shot  
**Rating: **T for my customary brand of bad language.  
**Dedication:** For the lovely Rissa (**hpobsessedrissa**) who was brilliant enough to beta this monster for me. She was responsible for giving me lots of helpful things that made this story infinitely better than what I could have done on my own. If you end up liking it, you owe her a congratulatory PM. Many thanks to you, darling!  
**Disclaimer** If you thought these characters were mine, I would laugh at you. Hard.  
**Other Information** Sixth year, before Lily "officially" falls for James. Oh and there's going to be a part near the end, where there's a few sentences of dialogue in italics. Those are lyrics!! I just used them in the dialogue instead of around it. Remember that.

* * *

_I never promised you a ray of light  
__I never promised there'd be sunshine everyday  
__I give you everything I have, the good, the bad_

As of two hours ago, it has been exactly two weeks since it has all gone down for me.

Two weeks - that's about half of a month. Only fourteen days. One hundred and sixty eight hours. Four thousand and thirty two minutes. However it's expressed, though, that's how long I have been in a depression too bewildering for words.

How long I have been setting procrastination records on my homework. How long I've spent withdrawing from nearly everyone who matters.

And, most importantly, how long it has been since the day I officially became, "nearly-ex-Mrs. James Potter," as the ever-faithful grape vine that's threatening to choke me at the moment has creatively dubbed me.

Nobody (with the possible exception of Alice Prewitt, my best friend in the world) knows how miserable all of this has made me.

It's been hideous - even Alice is having trouble deciding what to do with me, and she has to be one of the most patient people I know. If I didn't have Alice, I think I'd be huddled up in a corner somewhere in the castle, alone and not caring about the trouble I got into for not going to class, so I'm working on being all right for her sake, but I'm still making limited progress.

I simply don't know what's wrong with me, and it's alarming me – I'm scared of myself, and I know something's wrong when I can say something like that and mean it.

Essentially, what happened two weeks ago would make an absolutely brilliant play; fit for a London stage somewhere with plenty of critical acclaim and general popularity.

The main characters in the masterpiece would be me, Lily Evans, and of course, James Potter—two hot-headed opposites that can't shut their bloody mouths for more than five minutes without provoking the other into a fight; that's pretty much our relationship in a nutshell.

Our supporting cast would include his Marauders, Remus, Peter, and Sirius, as well as my darling Alice; our extras would be the rest of Gryffindor House. Everything comes together really, really nicely, because our supporting cast is practically professional at being shocked when they were, in reality, expecting the whole thing to happen soon enough; and our extras are great when it comes to spreading rumors the moment anything with the main characters occurs.

The only thing that is wrong with this play, though, is the plot; the plot is loose, bewildering, and does not have the happy ending most people expect it to have. It's a success only because the sets are vivid, the acting magnificent, and the mood appropriately explosive – but if they're frank, every single one of our fans would admit it's a big disaster whose meaning is lost in translation to the buzz around it.

Slightly confusing?

Merlin, yes, it was, and it still is.

Yet, despite the obligatory manifest of rumors and my unavoidably grim mood, Alice isn't very supportive of what's been going on with me lately. She spent the first couple of days after the fight (or the Apocalypse, as I call it) attempting to console me, since I was jittery and completely out of my usual personality range; but, once I was a little more regulated, I clammed up, ashamed of what my feelings were for that event, and her goal became opening me up again.

She hasn't succeeded because I merely don't want her to right now – I don't know why I care so much about something that's supposed to be so insignificant, and until I'm sure of the reasons, no one can get any kind of insight into my convoluted mess of a mind. I just like to be in control at all times, so when I'm not, I will try my damnedest to be – that's a generally well-accepted fact of life by now.

I _am_ Lily Evans, after all; from the mouth of James himself, I am nothing but a stubborn little prat who acts like she's got a stick up her pants, and after my class markings, there's not that much left of me anyway.

* * *

_Why do you put me on a pedestal?  
I'm so up high that I can't see the ground below  
So help me down, you've got it wrong  
I don't belong there_

That night was the single most terrifying night of my life; it was fast, furious, and so hateful, I couldn't believe it. I'm quite good at blocking the bad things out of my memory very effectively, so by this point, it's something of a blur – a combination of hazy words, a flash of livid hazel eyes, and lots of shouting, among several other things.

Attempting to recall the exact words of a Potter-Evans psychological brawl is like attempting to keep water from spilling between the fingers of a cupped hand – the details steadily trickle away, and all I can be left with at the end are the main ideas. Now that we're at the two week mark, a lot of those details have indeed eluded me, but I do still remember a few things.

Vaguely, I know the whole banter started when he heard me tell Alicia Harris that I found him to be an arrogant, ostentatious, disrespect fool. My temper began to rise as I pointed out how disrespectful it was of him to eavesdrop on what was supposed to be a private conversation, and he vehemently defended himself, while insisting I was overreacting.

But, the moment he began to mildly-accuse me of being rude, holding grudges, and getting worked up over nothing, that was when the bulk of the fight began, when things really started tumbling out of control – because I knew everything he was saying was right, but I didn't have the courage or the decency to back down when I should have.

He, of course, fought back; and, for whatever reason, both of us were in super-combat mode that night. Like most of our disagreements, we ended up wordlessly agreeing on attacking the other person's character faults relentlessly, but the things we said have been keeping me awake every night to this day – I know I won't be forgetting them any time soon, and I sincerely hope they never come out of my mouth ever, ever again.

No one, not even James Potter, king of the arses, deserves them.

We continued forward, our words falling out at a million miles a minute, filled with too much hatred for our own goods. We fought about anything we could think to fight about, each topic coming across as everything yet nothing, shaking in our unruliness. Every time an intelligent phrase came out of James's mouth, I felt like slapping him across the face, and I could tell the notion was mutual between the two of us.

According to some eyewitnesses, I also sent random objects flying across the room at him, but I don't know if I believe that one; brave and ferocious as they are, Gryffindors are also infamous exaggerators, especially when something this scandalous happens right beneath their noses.

However, the battle finally ended about a half hour later when we were both near tears of pure rage, until Alice (who had been out in the library "finishing something up") entered the common room at long, long last to see the scene in front of her. I remember that part specifically, because it was the most poised and mature Alice had ever been in my presence; even now, weeks later, I'm not exactly sure how she managed to pull it off so well, because we must have been quite a picture to her.

"Stop it," I recall her saying in a voice of loud, deadly calm after stepping between us on the front line of the war. "Lily, James, I stipulate it upon you two – _cut it out_."

"No," I hollered back at her. "I refuse to. I won't. I'm not going to give up on this one; I've had _enough_ of him." I was breathing heavily, my hair in my face and white-hot blood palpitating through my body. I was sure I looked horrible – my eyes were bright, my face a blotchy red, my hands in fists so tight my palms bled.

"And you think I haven't had enough of _you_?" James roared back at me. "You, with all your pretences and unjustified wrath over every person that doesn't agree with every word that you say?"

"Well, if that's the case, then why the bloody hell do you even talk to me?" I screeched.

"Stop," Alice had said at this point, in the same tone, only with a slightly raised volume. "Lily, calm yourself, or I will be forced to do it for you."

"Give it your best shot," I spat bitterly.

"Very well then." Alice pulled her wand out of her robes and had put some kind of charm on me to placate me. It sort of worked; I didn't lash out again – I only stood there, and watched her speak to James.

They spoke in low tones, James looking incensed and Alice looking determinedly composed, until a few minutes after, when he inexplicably stalked off, hand in his hair, his ears as red as they always were whenever we fought.

Alice had then come back to me, and led me upstairs to the dormitory, where she took the charm off of me. The moment she did, and I was able to get control over my emotions again, I had suddenly begun to cry.

It wasn't any kind of crying though; it was the honest-to-goodness, animal sobs that I hadn't indulged in since I was eight. Strangely enough, Alice hadn't even stopped me; she just sat there with me, like a mother, hugging me and stroking my hair. She said nothing – the only sound in our room for quite some time came from me, crying so hard I feared I wouldn't stop. I couldn't even figure out why; I was sixteen years old and told to be too resilient for my own good. Why couldn't my damned tears just go away?

This thought only made me cry harder, but Alice didn't care; she stayed there with me until I was only hiccupping, my eyes and nose red, and my face wet. I was sure I looked like a fright, but Alice didn't care about that one either – she only gave me a handkerchief and let me blow my nose in it. I had a killer headache by that point, dull and fixated in the left part of my brain, as well as a need to wash my face/calm down; I told Alice so, and I was blissful to note that the look on her face was one of the purest understanding.

"Okay," she had said, so simply. "Talk to me when you're ready, all right?"

"Thank you," I whispered.

She patted my shoulder, the ghost of a smile barely visible, and she left me to my very, very complicated thoughts for the events prior.

Now, thinking back on it, I feel so lucky that I had befriended Alice back in first year; I don't know what I would have done without her. There's only so long I can go before simply falling apart, turning into ashes like a phoenix, before rebuilding myself to my previous glory. It's sort of a gratifying feeling, when it happens, but at the same time, I always feel so weak – so unsound. I feel out of control, unable to bring myself back down to earth, because I'm floating so high above everybody else when I don't even want to.

I long for someone to pull me down, let me be human and make mistakes, but I don't seem to be able to; every time I am not the smiley little redhead they all want me to be, people are scandalized. Rumors spread. I sound like a lunatic or something, the way they put it.

I'm supposed to be this perfect little specimen, and I hate it, because I'm not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And it really isn't fair to embellish whatever it is I do that's actually right to the point where I have to feel bad for slipping up, even once.

"I'm not that goddamn wonderful – get the fuck away from me," I long to holler at them whenever anyone praises me for anything.

I don't though; instead, I just smile hollowly and say, "Thank you."

* * *

_One thing is clear  
I wear a halo  
I wear a halo when you look at me  
But standing from here, you wouldn't say so  
You wouldn't say so, if you were me _

So, today (thankfully in the present), on the two-week anniversary of the unofficial Apocalypse, I go to third period Charms with Alice. I'm quiet, barely speaking ten words on the entire trip, and she is too. We're often like this, even so many days afterwards, but neither of us will fix it – not me, because I'm the reason for the silence, and not her, because she's sick to death of trying to pry information out of me when she knows I won't give in. I know her as well as she knows me; this can be a good thing sometimes, but in this case, it isn't.

However, after quite a lengthy silence, Alice sighs and says, "Lily, it's been two whole weeks since that thing with James."

"Yes, it has," I say robotically.

"Isn't about time to be _yourself_ again?" she suggests, her eyes worried as she scans me over. "Lils, you're starting to lose weight, you're not doing your work, and you look like this wilted little plant all the time. I hate seeing my best friend like this."

What she's saying is true; my tightest jeans now fit me perfectly, I'm slacking on my class-work, and I look wickedly exhausted when I check myself over in the morning everyday. I've been trying to ignore it, but of course, she won't let me.

"This _is_ me, Alice," I say, my tone vacant. "That's the problem."

"This isn't you," she argues.

"It is," I assure her sadly. "This is me coming out of the closet for the first time."

"No," Alice says again, this time a little more fiercely. "The Lily Evans I know is bright, vivacious, and though she has her bad days, she's never like this. I'm forced to conclude that something is very seriously wrong with you, and you're just not telling me what it is."

I chew on my bottom lip. "I'm not what you say I am," I tell her. "Alice, I'm not that girl. Not inside. Not when no one's looking."

Alice looks so concerned now that I want to break down all over again. "What made you like that then, Lil?" she asks. "There has to be something."

"I don't know," I say with a shamefully childish pout.

"Is it something at home?" she tries.

"No."

"Are you having a particularly long and hideous PMS session?"

"No."

"Is it school in general that's overwhelming you?"

"No."

"Is it a boy?"

A pause. "No."

Alice catches onto this, and triumphantly, she asks me, "Is it James Potter?"

"NO!" I lash out. "No, no, no, no!"

"Your reaction tells me it's probably James," she deduces. "But why, Lily? Why is James getting to you so much, now of all times?"

I shake my head, my tears – always so near to the surface these days – starting to cloud up my vision. "It's not James," I persist stubbornly.

"Then what is it?" She stops walking in the corridor now and stands on the side with me, staring me right in the eye, waiting for my answer.

"Nothing," I almost whine. "Alice, we should be in Charms."

"Fuck Charms," Alice says severely. "You're more important to me right now. What's _wrong_, Lily?" She hasn't been this unrelenting in a while – I wonder what's bringing it all on. Normally, by this point, she'll sigh dejectedly and leave me alone. And, what's more, she would never say the word 'fuck.' I do on occasion, but she won't; this must be of considerable importance to her.

"Okay, so maybe it _is_ James Potter," I say loudly, deciding to throw her a bit of a bone – and in turn, throw myself one too, so I know exactly what I'm protecting, for once.

"I knew it," she says grimly. "I _knew_ it. But what about him is doing it to you?"

I sigh, listening to the bell ringing distantly from another part of the school. It gives me a certain sense of achievement to be cutting class – something I've thought about doing countless times but never actually followed through with before now – so I bite my lip one more time as I try to phrase this in my own head. I've been avoiding doing it the moment I first left the common room with Alice that night. I don't know why I'm going to come clean right now, of all times, but it seems inexplicably right to – I decide to go with it and listen to the part of my brain I usually guard vigilantly with lock and key.

"It's just…I don't like how he treats me," I begin after waiting a minute or two.

"Lily, he treats you like a queen," Alice reminds me, her expression uncomprehending.

"Yes, and that's what gets to me," I say, surprising myself with this proclamation; it came out of nowhere, but it somehow seems accurate, so I keep going. "I _hate_ being treated like a queen, Alice, especially from him!"

"Why?" she wants to know.

"Because I don't deserve it," I burst out. "I am _not_ the ideal-little-girlfriend material! I am a seriously messed-up person, and I don't like being treated as though I don't have any imperfections to speak of. I have imperfections, Alice, I know I do." I take a shaky breath in a pitiful attempt to calm myself down as I murmur, "I'm a bitch to him, and I think it's time that I should be treated like one."

Those damned tears of mine break free from my eyelids at last, and I squeeze my eyes shut against them, only to feel Alice squeeze my tall, lanky body against her shorter, fuller one. She lets go far too soon and puts her hands on my shoulders, her face painfully kind.

"Lils, you can't honestly think that," she says.

"I do," I say. "I've always been terrible to him, and he still regards me like I'm better than him. That I'm worth more than he is. It's not right; I feel so awkward near him because he'll bend over backward for me, and I don't reciprocate the thought."

"Is that why you pick fights with him?" she asks.

"Sort of." I bite my lip once more. "Alice, do you promise not to laugh at me or say 'I told you so'?"

"I swear," she says solemnly, raising her right hand.

"Okay." I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth for a moment before looking to the floor as I say, "I think…I think I might _possibly _like him."

"You do?" I look up when I hear her say this – her tone is gentle, but her eyes betray her true emotions, which run along the lines of the dreaded, 'I told you so.'

"Yes, Alice, I think I do," I say, my voice reserved. My gaze falls back to the floor.

"Is it the passionate, flutters-in-your-stomach, can't-stop-thinking-about-him sort of like?" Alice inquires next, tucking my hair behind my ear as she does every time I'm vulnerable in front of her. "Or is it only a friendly sort of like?"

"I don't know yet," I admit. "Just a he's-grown-on-me kind of like. I want to tell him that, and maybe make some sort of peace with him, but…I can't."

"Why not?"

I swallow thickly, looking utterly miserable. "Because we'll end up fighting, seeing as I can't seem to resist yelling at him for nothing, and when he realizes that I'm only human – not the angel with a halo he sees me as – he won't know what to do. He probably won't even like me anymore; the fact that I have faults will be an enormous shock, since he's turned a blind eye on them for six years."

Alice is troubled, but I won't look at her – that's why she tilts my chin up so that my eyes are level with hers, and she says, "Lils, that's a pretty big statement to make. Do you really have that little faith in him?"

I wait only a moment, but the only answer I can give her is a very strangled, "Yes."

_And I, I just wanna love you_  
_Oh oh I, I just wanna love you_

* * *

After school, I take refuge in my favorite corner of the common room, something I have been doing for these past two weeks. It's an inconspicuous little place, almost always overlooked, and sitting there makes me feel invisible – something I like being at the moment. I take out my homework right away while the Gryffindors around me lounge about and have shouted conversations across the room, and I try my best to tune them out so I can comprehend what I'm working on.

Alice has a date with her boyfriend, Frank Longbottom, tonight; she passed me a note in Transfiguration, our last period of the day, offering to postpone it, saying Frank would understand, but I told her to go. She should not ruin her fun because of me. So, with many promises from me that I was all right, she left right after school to sneak off into the village with him, and I came upstairs to my usual spot. Thankfully, no one has bothered me yet – a good sign – and I'm hoping it will persist until Alice comes back later tonight.

As I'm looking through my Ancient Runes textbook for a translation of a particular character that's slipped my memory, attempting to ignore the boisterous noise around me, I am unfortunate enough to get a Fanged Frisbee to the head. This highly annoys me; not only are they not allowed in the common room, they are really damn painful! My easy rage flaming within me once more, I put my things aside and stand up, holding the Frisbee over my head, and inquire as to whose it is.

And, of course, it is Sirius Black and his cheekily handsome grin that comes over to claim it.

"Watch where you throw that," I tell him irritably, sitting back down.

"Sorry," Sirius says, his tone teasing. "I'll be sure to hit someone else next time."

"You're not even supposed to have those in the common room," I point out sourly.

"Aww, lighten up, Evans," he says, giving me a playful punch on the shoulder. "You look awful."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically.

"No, really, you do," he says. "You look tired."

"Seeing as I don't sleep at night anymore for all the homework I can't do during the day with you lot throwing Frisbees at me, yes, I would be rather tired," I say, my single sentence punctuated with a couple of yawns.

"Ah, you're like James then," Sirius tells me wisely. "He doesn't sleep either, but it's not because of his homework."

Is it just me, or am I getting a very significant, but subtle look here?

This conversation is now heading into very dangerous waters, and I know it, so I say as shortly as I can muster, "I have to work. Do you mind?"

"Not really," he says. "It's just that I'm being observant at the moment, and I felt like sharing it with you."

"Well, don't," is my only response.

Sirius pretends to be highly offended. "_Fine_ then, Evans," he says huffily. "Have it your way."

And with this, he walks away, without another word.

I know it takes a lot more than a mild snub to rub Sirius Black the wrong way, but I still feel like I've done something wrong as I watch him leave and fail miserably at engaging myself in my homework again. Another person I've screwed up with – this just isn't my month. I sincerely consider banging my head against the wall; I doubt anyone would notice.

Still, there's something else about the conversation with Sirius that is nagging at me, besides the driving-him-away part, and if I'm honest with myself, I know it's the part about James not sleeping anymore.

Does he stay up at night because of me and the Apocalypse? I know I do, but I never thought _he_ would. It sounds impossible, that I could possibly affect the notoriously long sleeping patterns of James Potter, but now that I think on it, James has been a bit down lately. There were some distinct bags under his eyes that I knew he was trying to hide. He fell asleep in Potions the other day, too, and though I dismissed the matter to pure laziness, it seems to take on a different light for this lone moment in time. James really isn't sleeping anymore. I'm not sleeping anymore. Is this a signal or something?

Does this mean what I think it means?

No, I tell myself sternly. There's no signal. James is missing sleep for a reason that's not me. I imagined the look Sirius gave me. I don't care about him – he's James Potter, isn't he? I've hated him for years without any problem at all. This is only another one of those years. I shouldn't get worried about anything. He's not speaking to me, and I'm not speaking to him. So far, I am safe, and I intend to keep it that way.

* * *

Another two weeks have managed to slip past me, somehow, after my bizarre conversation with Sirius; with the kind of jolt I get when I'm forgetting something important, I realize this morning that it has now been a full month since I fought with James.

And, for all the best or the worst ways, it definitely feels like it to me.

For a while after That Day, I'd been bewildered, muddled, and dismal beyond all comprehension. I had cried more then than I had in my entire life put together, because as a rule, I don't cry. Alice had been fretting about my weight, my grades, my sleeping habits, my diet – everything. She'd been like a mother to me, making sure I did what I was supposed to at all the right times, compromising as a brick wall; and when she wasn't doing that, she was poking me into some introspection I didn't feel ready to do.

Now, however, I'm feeling better, fresher – thanks to Alice, I am slowly eating and working at the pace I used to. My tight jeans don't fit me anymore, much to her delight. I'm not as cranky or as weepy as I was before. I feel like a growing plant finally breaking through the soil to see the sun; everything will be okay soon. _I'm_ going to be okay soon.

Alice was thrilled to point out that I wore my first true smile since Then a week ago – things are unquestionably looking my way now, and I've never felt happier about being in control.

At this moment, I am in the dormitory with Alice. It's about nine in the evening, and we're talking in bed – my homework is actually done and I can go to sleep on time. Alice, who has just returned from her date with Frank, is very, very proud of me when she finds out.

"So, Lily, how does it feel to be a good little girl and do your work before eleven?" she asks me jokingly, shoving an imaginary microphone in my face like we've seen reporters do.

"Lovely, Alice," I say back, grinning. "Thank you for asking."

She laughs in the dark, the sound pleasant to my ears. "Ah, I don't think today can be better – you ate everything I gave you today and you did all of your homework for the fifth day in a row. _This _is the Lily Evans I know and love."

I sigh, but it isn't a mournful one – it's a peaceful one. "It's nice to be back," I comment.

"It must be," Alice says with a grin. But within a few minutes, her grin fades as she looks rather seriously back at me – she hasn't looked at me this way since two weeks ago, when we cut Charms. There must be something vital she has to tell me.

"Lily, I have to ask this – are you ready to talk to me openly and frankly about James?" she asks hesitantly, like a water tank about to burst with the amount of water it's got in it.

Previously, I would stiffen at the mention of his name. Now, though, I only feel a particularly wild flutter in my chest as I coolly say, "Possibly. What does the openness and frankness entail for me?"

"It means I should be able to say pretty much whatever I want about the both of you without freaking out on me," she clarifies. "I've been dying to discuss him with you, but I had to wait until you felt better again; is tonight the night?"

I twirl a lock of my hair around with my index finger, more nervous than I care to show her. "Maybe," I say slowly. "What do you want to discuss?"

"Oh, try everything," she says; she's pretty much burst now, and she clearly necessitates for my cooperation. I truly do want to give it, but I'm not sure how she wants me to use it yet.

"Like what?" I feel very stupid asking such short, insensitive questions when my best friend is going ballistic on me, but I have to – she knows that.

She takes a breath that does nothing to pacify her. "Like the fact that he's practically _dying_ because of you. Like how he loves you to death and you don't look as if you truly get that. Like how everyone in the entire year knows you both are head over heels for each other, and it's only a matter of time before you get together. You know – things like that." Her tone is breathless as she surveys me, looking for any drop of emotion she can use for her own purposes. If I'm not careful in concealing them, she'll have a goldmine to choose from.

"He doesn't," I say cautiously. "Alice, honestly, he doesn't love me as much as you say he does. Our fight only proved it. Have you forgotten about how he's not my type? About how he wants a girl with a halo rather than a girl who's spent her life doing things that don't deserve said halos? Or, here's the best one: how he should look for someone who's better than I will ever be?"

"Lils, this is not the time to have your self-esteem fail us both," she says sternly. "He _loves_ you. He doesn't just like you, admire you, have a crush on you – he honest-to-goodness _loves_ you. He'd do anything and everything for you. I'd be willing to bet he'd even die for you, if he had to. Don't you _know_ that by now?"

"No," I snap. "Because if he loved me as much as you say he does, he would have talked to me by now. He would have tried to make things right. It's been a whole month, Alice; he's had plenty of time."

"Have you considered that maybe he's kind of shy about it, like you are?" Alice suggests. "That maybe he's a bit scared of you? I wouldn't blame him, Lil; if you weren't my best friend, I'd probably avoid you too."

"You see?" I say, pouncing on her for this error in her judgment. "I'm terrible! I'm frightening! Why in the name of Merlin would he want me then? He now has proof that I'm someone to stay away from because of my temper, so why wouldn't he use it? Any _normal_ human being would."

"But, Lily, the thing about James is that he _isn't_ normal," Alice says softly after a moment. "He's _extraordinary._"

"Well, he can go be extraordinary with some other girl," I say peevishly, all my vigor from earlier already evaporated in entirety. "I'm not interested."

She sighs heavily – she knew it would get to this point. "You told me you liked him," she points out in a last-ditch effort.

"I said I thought I _might_," I remind her. "That's not the same as a definite like."

"That was then," she says. "What about now? Do you like him now?"

I pretend to consider this. "Erm…no, I don't like him now. Any more questions?"

"No," Alice says tonelessly after an almighty sigh. Then, she somewhat surprises me by saying, in the same dead-pan voice, "Good night, Lily."

"Good night," I say back as I turn over in bed. I lie on my pillow now, staring out into the darkness of my dormitory. As I do so, I do what I've been doing every single night since the day Alice had just questioned me on – I think about James Potter.

But, more specifically, I think about all the things I've done to him that were so mean, they could be counted as sins. I also think about how much I probably do like him. And how doomed I will be if the feeling strengthens even a little bit more, or if someone (a.k.a. Alice) finds out what's going on in my head when she's asleep.

I shiver involuntarily from within my blankets; I'm at such a delicate balance here at the moment, and I sincerely hope that I don't do something stupid that screws it up.

_See me as I really am  
I have flaws and sometimes I even sin  
So pull me from that pedestal  
I don't belong there_

* * *

In the morning, I wake up to a typically glum, gray Saturday morning in the Gryffindor girl's dormitory. It sort of matches my mood – sultry, overcast clouds threatening to wash the earth through with rain if pushed to that point, with no sun to speak of whatsoever. How charming. I hope it ends up raining.

I check the clock on the wall, and it informs me that it is seven in the morning. When I peer at Alice's bed to see if she's awake, I see that she, too, is only just beginning to stir. She looks really, really sleepy – her hair is sitting in a tangled mop atop her head, and she's yawning. When she sees that I'm up as well, she smiles drowsily at me and waves.

"'Morning, Lils," she says.

"Good morning," I say back. Glancing out the window, I remark, "Lovely day."

She snickers. "I know, right?" She sighs. "English weather is so hideous. It's not fair."

I shrug and yawn myself before stretching my arms. "Well, what can we do?"

"I dunno." Alice pauses for a moment, but then says in a careful tone that always makes me suspicious, "But I do know of one thing _you_ can do."

"And what might that be?" I want to know, though I have a hunch about what it is already.

Alice makes sure to lock her gaze in properly with mine before saying, "Talk to James."

I fall back on my pillow. "No," I say when my head hits the intended target. "No, no, no, no. I'm _not_ talking to James."

"Oh, why not?" she inquires, leaning over to look at me in all my disheveled, mulish glory. "It's the right thing to do!"

"It isn't," I argue. "He doesn't want to talk to me. I don't want to talk to him. How can it be right if neither of us want it?"

"He _does_ want to talk to you though," Alice says.

"How do you know?"

She takes a breath. "Because last night, while I was with Frank, James told me himself."

"Get out of here!" I say, shooting up to give her a horrified look. "Why didn't you mention this last night? What were his exact words? What were _your_ exact words? And while we're at it, what were Frank's exact words?"

She smiles slightly at my curiosity, but says, "Well, we were out at Hogsmeade, and I saw James and the Marauders walking together, near us. Frank's pretty good friends with them, so he called out a 'hello' to be polite, and waved, that sort of thing. They seemed to be having some sort of divergence before they saw us though, because they were all looking pretty intense; and then Sirius asks us out of the blue, as though trying to prove a point, 'Shouldn't James talk to Lily, Alice?'"

My eyes are widen. "What did you say?"

"I said of course," Alice says promptly. "I told him I'd been trying to make you do that for weeks now, but you were being obstinate. But, I also told him I knew you wanted to speak with him, despite your avoidant behavior. That's just par for the course after all. He looked back at James with this triumphant look before thanking me, and just when we're all about to move on, James hangs back and asks me, 'Are you sure?' I said yes, I was – you're my best friend, aren't you? Then I asked him why he cared so much, echoing your words to me. He gave me this puzzled expression at that point." She looks sorrowfully at me. "Do you know what he said next?"

"No," I say, listening for the answer with bated breath.

She gives me a very gloomy smile before saying, "He said, and I quote, 'because I love her, and I'm sorry about what happened. Could you tell her that I mean it?'"

She sighs.

"I was touched for you, because of the way he said it – if you'd been there, I know it would have torn you apart. I told him I would pass it on and he added, 'I also need to talk to her. Tell her that too.' You couldn't miss the sincerity in his voice, Lils, even if you're still determined to pretend you don't like him." She bites her lip at me. "That's why you've got to talk to him, Lily; keeping this in mind, can you?"

I bite my lip too. "I don't know," I confess. "It makes it all the more awkward. I've had enough awkwardness with that boy to last me a lifetime. Wouldn't I simply be better off if we never talked again? I'm feeling so much better without him."

Alice sets her jaw like she does when she's really, really pissed, and snipes at me, "No, you are _not _better off without him, and he's _certainly_ not better off without you. Awkwardness is nothing but a state of mind, Lily – if you try hard enough, you can get out of it. You never do that though; that's why you're so awkward."

I'm about to contradict her, but she stops me by giving me a long, hard look.

"You don't know him," she says. "How can you be sure you aren't right for him if you don't even know him? You think you know him, but honestly, you don't. You've got to _talk_ to him, warm up to him a little bit, and then – _only_ then – are you justified in saying you should not be together. Well, even at that point, you're not justified, because you two are the most fated couple in this castle right now."

She pauses to let her words sink in a little bit before saying, "Getting together with Frank was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I thought I was satisfied before him, but when I got down to it, something had been missing – a void I never thought I had. He filled it for me, and I have been the happiest girl since. I want that for you too, Lils; you're my best friend, as I told James and Sirius, and I know that he's a good catch. A _really_ good catch. You'd be retarded not to take him."

I'm very close to challenging her once more, but I stop myself. We're fated? Meant to be together? No, it can't be; I've never been able to picture myself with him, even when I've tried to. I can see where Alice is coming from with all of her speculations, but I have to put it down to the fact that she doesn't know the situation like I do – she isn't me, the screwed up girl who's mistaken for the incarnation of perfection, and she doesn't have him, the screwed up guy who simply won't leave her alone. She doesn't get it, and I tell her so, only to have her laugh bitterly at me.

"Lils, you're fishing for excuses now," she tells me. "You've run out of reasons for why you can't talk to him. You know you want to, and you know you have to. I'm getting rather tired of having to convince you to, so please, can you make my life easier and just go for it? Talk to him once, and I swear I will leave you alone about him for the rest of your days. Deal?"

It sounds kind of tempting, when she pitches it to me this way. I consider her words for a moment before killing myself internally by saying, _very_ unwillingly, "All right fine; I'll talk to him."

"Excellent!" Alice's harder exterior melts away immediately as she jumps out of her bed to hug me tightly. "I'm so proud of you, Lils. Are you going to do it before or after breakfast today?"

"Today?" I come out of her hug to give her a highly bewildered face. "Who said I was talking to him today?"

"Me," Alice says, looking genuinely surprised by my shock. "Aren't you doing it today?"

"No!" I yelp. "I'm not ready at _all_; I don't know what to do or what to say, or anything. Not today."

"Oh, don't be a chicken," Alice says as she sits back on her own bed. "It's really very simple; all you've got to do is go to him, ask him for a word alone, and tell him you're sorry about the fight. The conversation will roll from there, and when the time calls for it, you'll know exactly what you have to say."

I run my hand through my hair – it needs a wash. "I don't know, Alice."

"I do, though," Alice says. She catches sight of the greasy interior of my scalp, so she says, "All right, after breakfast, then. Wash your hair, get ready, and eat. You'll feel fresher. Then, all you've got to do is say a few words and both of you will be in high spirits for the rest of the year." She beams, and I'm actually saddened by this; to her, it really is this simple. To me, though, it's most definitely not.

"A few words to him amount to a novel with the rest of us," I remind her.

"So?" she asks. "Isn't it better to say those words now, so you don't have to spend a lifetime with them over your head?"

I sigh and wrap my arms around my knees, which I bring to my chest to hug. "I suppose," I admit warily.

"That's what I thought," she says. "Now, I've got to get ready, like you do; I have some work I have yet to do in the library. That Potions thing."

"I did it already," I can't resist inserting.

"I know," she says, grinning. "You little stickler – I love seeing that you're back to your obsessive ways. But, that doesn't change the fact that I still need to do the thing; I'll be busy for most of the morning. Can we agree to meet for lunch at twelve thirty?"

"Yeah, okay," I agree.

"Wonderful." She bounces up, gives me a pat on the back, and says, "See you later, Lils." With this, she picks up her clothes from her drawer and retires into the bathroom, presumably to take a shower.

I, however, do no such thing; I prefer to lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how on earth I got talked into doing something of this magnitude.

I know, deep down, that what Alice is making me do is the right thing, but I still don't want to admit it. Not yet. I don't believe in James, nor do I want to, at the moment. I don't think I want to believe in _anything_, I muse, except for maybe a mug of coffee when I get downstairs.

Coffee is, at least, quite dependable that way – hot only to the point where I can stand it, and never, ever more than I can handle.

* * *

I eat breakfast with a couple of my other friends in Gryffindor House – namely Emmeline Vance and Mary MacDonald, two lovely girls despite my not being very close to them. All throughout the meal I am nervous, and anxious; I end up not eating very much because my stomach is already occupied by a particularly rambunctious colony of butterflies.

I can't believe I let Alice talk me into doing this. I try to calm down a bit by reminding myself that if this goes wrong, Alice is going to be in trouble, but that doesn't do much for me – no matter what I do to Alice, the deed will still be done. I may not like James, but I don't want things to be too awkward between us for the rest of the year; that would _not _be good.

At last, I excuse myself from the table, wondering if I should go to my room and pretend to pass out as an excuse not to do this when I inconveniently see James enter flippantly with his Marauders. He rarely does anything without at least one of them, so I can't say I'm surprised, but I watch them anyway as I cautiously trail after them.

I'm particularly observant towards how James interacts with his friends at the moment, but I don't see too much difference about him – he's telling what appears to be an engaging story complete with hand gestures and feral facial expressions while the Peter-and-Sirius duo laugh and Remus looks mildly embarrassed. I've seen this scene many a time before; it's nothing I would actually analyze.

However, I force myself to look a little closer at him, and it is then that I notice that he doesn't seem to be _working _as hard. It's an odd thing to say, but I'm sure it is the only apt description I can give as I squint closer, hoping I don't look too obvious.

Normally, when the world is graced with a new James Potter story, it is vivid because it's so genuine, and it's difficult to doubt even a single word from his mouth. This time, on the other hand, I feel that he's holding back.

He looks so tired – his eyes have heavier, more visible bags haunting his face, and even his hair is not sticking up as high as I usually I see it. But, these differences are so subtle, Alice and I are probably the only people who've seen them outside of the group formed by those three boys; yet, they unsettle me without any kind of explanation all the same. This can't be right.

Setting my jaw as I've seen Alice do on a few memorable occasions, I gather myself up the best I can as I walk down to the Marauder's side of the table down at the end of the hall. The four boys are still talking, but the chatter dies down when they see me.

"Wotcher, Evans," Sirius says with a wink the moment I catch his eye. This is hardly unforeseen; Sirius has always been the most comfortable out of the four with me. I've long been putting it down to his excessive experience with the opposite sex.

"Hello to you too, Black," I say, for the sake of humoring him. "Pettigrew, Lupin," I add when I catch them watching me carefully. I allow myself only one look at James, and I can tell he's on his high-alert mode – not unlike me.

"'Morning Evans," Peter says, his tone amiable enough. "What brings you to our neck of the woods on this fine Saturday morning?"

"I…I just wanted a word," I say, hoping to sound decisive.

"Who with?" Sirius wants to know, sweeping his hand across the table dramatically.

"Erm, Potter," I say, blushing oh so slightly. With difficulty, I make myself look him in the eyes and ask, "Do you mind? I want to speak to you privately."

James looks confused. "You do?" His incomprehension does not wholly cover his relief – or happiness? – in the matter nonetheless, and I can tell. This is the only thing that inspires me to say, "Yes."

Sirius looks interested. "Ooh, why do you want to talk to our darling Jamesie, Evans? We're very overprotective best friends, you know."

"The only time he can be alone is when he has to go to the loo," Peter adds with a foolish little chuckle.

Remus looks a bit discomfited on their behalf. "Sorry Lily," he whispers to me. He's one of the very few people whom I've let call me by my first name.

"It's fine," I whisper back at him while Sirius and Peter have a laugh together.

"All right, all right, calm down Wormtail, Padfoot," James says, smiling at the two of them. "Baby bird has to fly from the nest now. See you in a bit."

"Oh, but Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Pettigrew are going to miss you," Sirius says, his lower lip jutting out. "Right, Mummy?" He nudges Remus with a roguish smile.

Remus ignores this, and advises, "Go, before they think of something 'wittier' to express."

Sirius begins to cackle now, and James flicks his arm playfully before getting up and standing next to me. Having him so close to me – close enough to touch – is eerie, since I mostly spend my time avoiding him or fighting with him. I don't know if I like it or not, at this point in time.

"Do you want to take a walk?" I ask him after we've left the Great Hall together, causing quite a stir from the Gryffindor side.

"I'm game," he says agreeably, though I can detect that faint trace of apprehension in his tone nevertheless.

"Cool." My cheeks surely flaming with mortification, I keep a very no-nonsense distance between us as I lead him out of the front doors and to the Black Lake. There's a path around it that leads to a small grove farther down, a popular spot for couples to snog (or occasionally shag) their brains out in the absurdly early or late hours of the day; I take this path out of sheer convenience and slow my pace down so to talk to James properly.

He's silent as he walks with me, appearing to be deep in thought. I'm dying to know what about, but he doesn't say anything, and I don't press him for an explanation. As a more welcomed alternative, I sort out the loose threads of thought in my brain and attempt to channel Alice telepathically in the library; I need more advice on the awkwardness-is-a-state-of-mind-which-can-be-easily-lifted-if-I-commit-myself-to-it part. But, as usual, I get nothing, and I am forced to rely on my own wits – which have been publicly proven to be highly unprofitable in affairs dealing with the very boy I'm about to patch things up with. Unfortunately enough, it seems that I've done something to severely piss off Mother Nature at some time in my life, and I'm paying quite dearly for it now.

"So…" I say uncomfortably as we amble along our path. "Potter…"

"Call me James," he says abruptly, breaking my train of reasoning.

"Sorry?"

"I said, call me James," he repeats, though not with annoyance. "You don't need to use my last name."

I'm slightly taken aback, but I hide this as I clear my throat. "All right then, James," I say, experimenting with the unfamiliar taste of the word on my tongue – I've never used it in front of his face before, which makes the experience something new altogether.

"Yeah," he says, prompting me further.

"Look, this isn't easy," I begin. "I know we're not on good terms or anything, I know that it's probably too late for me to be able to fix anything here, and I also know you're kind of freaked out that I'm talking to you so out of the blue like this, but…"

My voice trails off. It has just occurred to me that this is pretty much the first time I've ever apologized to James Potter over the course of six entire years. What a strangely heartbreaking conclusion.

"But what?" I admire his patience – he's not in the least bit exasperated with me or my mysterious half-sentences. He's more fretful than anything else. He's worried about me.

Self-loathing, scorching and heavy, coupled with a smothered guilt I've only had glimpses of in the past creeps up my veins, colors my cheeks; he shouldn't worry about me. I don't deserve it, being the hardhearted bitch I am when I'm in his presence, and this fills me with new energy.

"But I need to tell you this right away, or I shall surely explode," I say honestly, my voice gritty with emotion. I take a breath to steady myself.

"I'm sorry, James," I say with all the emotion I have in me. "And it shouldn't have taken me so long to express it. I'm sorry it took me forever, and I'm sorry that things played out the way they did."

He looks astounded – I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. He doesn't say anything though, so taking a leaf from Alice's book, I continue on to bravely bridge the quiet, "I'm sorry I said what I said. I'm sorry I did what I did. I'm sorry I made you feel what you felt. I'm sorry I was so wrapped up in my own catastrophic little world that I forgot you had feelings too. I'm sorry I am so prone to rowing with you even when you don't deserve it. I'm sorry–"

I'm about to apologize for something else, feeling the weights lifting off of me one by one as I atone for my past misdeeds, but it is now that he stops me by putting a gentle hand to my shoulder, its weight warm and comforting. I hush immediately.

"It's okay," he says softly.

"No, it's not," I say, stepping back to let his hand fall to his side. "It's _not_ okay, James, but I still need you to know that I'm sorry."

He looks confused. "If you're trying to apologize, shouldn't things be okay?"

"No!" I cry. Then I backtrack. "I mean, erm, yes, they should be…but I know they're not, because I won't let them be…b-but, but, I don't know if they _ever_ will be, ever, like, even after now when you pretend you forgive me, so I didn't w-want to say I was sorry…but t-then Alice said…and I decided I should…I mean, no, I…" I'm babbling hopelessly now.

What I'm saying is making no sense to me, let alone James. I'm getting increasingly angry with myself, trying to get the words I've been practicing in my head out, but they won't. This is not the picture-perfect confession I had in mind.

He puts both of his hands on my shoulders this time, and his profoundly hazel eyes bore into mine in a way I haven't allowed them to do in ages. I can feel my lips continue to move now, but I don't hear any noise coming out of them – I must look like a fish. Humiliated and ready to melt through the floor, I close my mouth, and I let him stare at me.

It's a bit disconcerting, to have all his attention exclusively on me this way, but human beings are adaptable – we can adapt to just about anything. And, in this way, I adapt to James as he adapts to me; we stand in this fashion for several minutes, getting used to the way we're looking at each other, before I clear my throat.

"I'm sorry," I repeat.

"It's okay," he also repeats, insufferably trouble-free.

My lips remain slightly parted, but I say nothing again; my eyes are purposefully averted to any spot that is not his face, as I let these two words – words I've both dreaded and hoped he would say – work their subtle effect into my systems. I can still feel his gaze on me, but this no longer bothers me. I swallow thickly to attempt to relieve my clogged up throat, and after quite some time, I gently move his hands away from me.

"I've got to go," I whisper. "Thank you."

I'm about to walk away, somehow feeling worse now than I had when I first came outside with him, but he doesn't let me; his strong, calloused palm closes around my admittedly thin wrist, making me whirl around to face him once more. This time, I can't make out his expression – is there a glint of resentment in there somewhere?

"Wait," he says.

"Why?" I want to know as I take my wrist back from him.

"Because we both know we're not done here," he tells me.

"I don't have anything left to say," I insist. "Really."

"I don't believe you," he says, not bothering to hide his distrust.

"Why not?" I ask, indignant.

"Because I can tell," he says, gallingly obscure as ever.

"How can you tell?"

"Because I know you."

This, somehow, gets me more than anything else he's said up until now. "Do you?" I inquire, my tone more scornful than I had intended originally.

"I do," he says calmly. "Better than you give me credit for."

I'm getting rather tired of where this conversation is going, and I hope it shows. In an attempt to enhance the hostility, I say, "You don't know me. There's nothing I've got left to say. All right?"

"Not all right," he disagrees. "Not all right at all. Lily Evans, for once in your life, can you just say whatever it is that you're not saying?" I was right – there's definitely resentment in his tone as this spills out.

"I hate it when you think I'm stupid enough not to know that you're keeping quiet about something – I'm _not_ that unobservant," he insists.

Stung by this comment, I counter back, "I don't think you're stupid. I truly don't have anything to say to you. Is it obligatory to have some kind of a novel ready for you every time I need to talk to you or something?"

"No," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "No, it's not…unless you imply otherwise."

"But I'm not implying otherwise," I say uncomprehendingly.

"You are," he assures me. "If you weren't, would you really have argued with me on the matter for this long?"

A silence spirals around us after he says this, and I find myself trapped. James knows it; I can tell by the way he's looking at me – expectant, grimly conquering. I won't let him get the upper hand over me though; that's just not acceptable.

Keeping this in mind, I let all of the intensity I can muster flood into my eyes, and my jaw sets again. It is now that I realize that I am officially in business again – I can almost feel my temper begin to fire up in my stomach.

"This is one of the things I just can't stand about you, James," I say irately. "You never believe me! You think you know best; you think you know me better than I know myself, and you don't. Stop pretending that you do."

"I don't think that at all," he says, obviously taken aback, but not happy about it in the least. "Actually, I think I've hardly scratched the surface with you; I'm _trying_ to know you better."

"So why do you drive me nuts?" I demand. "Why do you drive me away?"

"I don't mean to," he says. "But I drive you nuts because…because…" He gropes for the words in his head for a split second before he bursts out with, "Because I want to find out what makes you tick, Lily! I want to see what your limits are. I want to hear you scream your lungs out. I want to get a taste of what goes on inside your head. I want to shake you and scream at you until I get you to really _feel _something. I want to throw your resolve into the ground, stomp on it, and then snog you senseless, snog the bloody hell out of you. The only way to do that is to push you, to make you push me back, to discover a method of unraveling the girl that refuses to show herself to me." This being said, his eyes are raw as he watches me for my response.

My mouth has gone dry now, and I can feel the shock registering on my face, but I wave it impatiently aside as I bellow back to him, "I don't want you to do any of that to me! You say all this now, with the noblest of intentions, sounding like you're the innocent one here while I'm the bad guy, but in reality, James Potter, you believe that I'm _better_ than you are!"

_You think that you know me  
But in your eyes  
I am something above you  
It's only in your mind  
Only in your mind_

This last part comes out as a strangled, half-coughed screech – me being so distraught that I've lost myself to the storm of emotions I've been holding back for ages. I'm shaking badly, all over my body – he's unraveled me all the way with only the outline of his missions, and it's been but twenty seconds. This boy has an undeniable talent for doing so.

How did I get started up so fast? What was the word that made me so distressed? I can't figure it out; all I know is that I'm about to cry, and that somehow or another, my hands are balled up into fists with my fingernails digging in hard enough draw blood, and that I am officially the uncontrollable monster I always attempt to conceal when I get this upset.

I expect James to be scared of me, to be horrified with me, to run away from me – something, anything to show that he doesn't want to be here – but I am wrong again. He isn't running; he isn't even surprised.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he murmurs, his tone undecipherable.

"We're not getting _anywhere_!" I holler at him, my voice animal-like and hardly intelligible to my own ears. "This is what I've been trying to tell you! You think you know me; you think you're making progress when really, you're only making me lose my fucking mind!" A tear escapes from my eyes, but I brush it away intolerantly, and continue to shout, "You think that making me mad will make me reveal myself as some sad, lost little girl who needs saving, who needs finding. But you know what? _I'm not lost_! I know exactly what I am; it's _you_ who's lost. You're lost in the perfect illusion that I hold to every goddamn human being in this world – so lost in it that you think it's real!"

My words are coming fast and heavy, my breath shallow if there at all, and if I could, I would probably pull all my hair out by this point, so far am I into the whirlpool of my ferocity. I can hardly see him for my blurry eyes and trembling person, but I know he's there; I know he's listening to me. He'd better be.

"Lily, I don't think you need me to save you," I hear his voice say from somewhere in front of the storm, firmly serene.

"You think I'm perfect!" I holler, wiping my eyes for the second time to look at him properly, not caring that my face is streaked with tears I'd sworn never to show him. "Y-You think I'm going to be an angel for you, that you'll live a happy, lovely life of comeliness with the girl you've been besotted with since you were e-eleven. But I'm not that girl, James; I'm n-never going to be her. _I always said that I would make mistakes; I'm only human, and that's my saving grace_. _I fall as hard as I try, so don't be blinded._ I can't bear it."

I'm still shaking, but getting this out of my system is, actually, helping me; I feel like I'm regurgitating poison from deep within my self, from places I'm otherwise scared to tread, and I feel better for it.

I look up at him now, probably a fright, but he is studying my face, still at the same distance away from me – his expression is hard to interpret, but it appears to be troubled, worried.

"Is that what was bothering you, Lily?" he asks, his tone ever so careful. "Were you so wound-up because you thought I found you perfect?"

"Yes," I say loudly with a hiccup, rubbing my damp, swollen eyes and sighing shakily. "You were so mistaken. I'm not perfect at all, and I couldn't live with you thinking I was. It makes me nervous, knowing you're watching me with this preconceived and utterly mistaken notion that I'm this fantastic, heaven-sent little doll tailor made for you. I can't live like that – I feel like a liar, and that is what drives me to be a bitch in your presence." I sniff and rub my nose, not caring how disgusting I must appear.

"That's why we don't get along; because I want you to realize that I'm not what you think I am."

James's expression is empathetic to every degree as he surveys me now, still not daring to come any closer to me when I'm in this state – unrefined, unstable, unable to keep control.

His hazel eyes have never been as deep, penetrating, or beautiful as they are now. I feel like he's reading my soul now – the real soul I've buried away from him, the one that even Alice has only caught flashes of over the years. The one that reveals me to be someone who's not an angel wearing her halo of purity and light.

We remain there, standing across from each other with him watching and me trying desperately to get a hold of myself, for several minutes before James finally reaches out to me and brings me towards him. Without any warning, he puts my face to his chest and holds me close, something I've never let him do before. His arms are strong and his body comfortable as he runs his hand up and down my back, hugging me as sweetly as Alice does when she knows I need comfort.

There were days before when I would have fought him, wriggled out of his grasp and kicked him in the crotch for touching me, but this is not one of those days – this is one of those rare days when I stand there with him, and I weep into his robes. I struggle not to, but the fact that he's solidly _here_, when no one else would have been, is too much for me.

My sobs get the better of me, and his clothes are practically soaking, but he doesn't care – he begins to speak again into my hair, where his face is currently dwelling. His voice is mostly steady, though if I listen meticulously enough, I can hear that it's not without a few tremors in nonetheless.

"Lils, I'm fully aware that you're not perfect," he says, "and I'm aware that you get scared and overwhelmed when I'm around. I'm aware that you're not all that you seem to be. But you know what? That's what I love about you."

He takes me off of him and tilts my chin up to look into my tear-stained eyes. "I love that you fight for what you want. I love that you know what you're doing most of the time. I love that you make jokes and mess around when you're not being a workaholic. I love how wacky you dress sometimes. I love that you're comical, clever, sarcastic, brave, strong, and independent. I love all that you are beyond that list as well. But you know what I love in addition to those things?"

"What?" I whisper.

"I love that even though you've got all this fire, you've got a sore, broken side too," he says when he releases me to look at me once again, his eyes enigmatic. "Maybe people don't know as much about it, but it's there. You're human, as you put it; but trust me when I say that the fact that you know where your limits are and where your vulnerability becomes too much for you is probably one of your best qualities. And yes, I will admit that sometimes, I did think you were better than me, but isn't that what love is all about? Putting someone else before yourself, because you know they're worth it?"

"Not with me," I say, sniffing and shaking my head, touched more than I am able to articulate by the things he's saying. "You shouldn't think that I'm somewhere above you at any moment, because I'm not; not when you spend enough time with me."

"Well, when it comes to handling these types of situations, you pretty much are," James points out. "I mean, look at me – I skulked for weeks, not knowing what to do, while you took initiative and came to find me. That's better than what I did."

I shake my head, a bleak smile upon my face. "Let's not get into this argument today, all right? I know I can go on forever, so we'll save it for another day."

"Deal." He grins the ghost of his usual grin at me now, but his tone is of the same intensity as he asks me, "So…tell me while we're open – are you all right?"

"I suppose," I say, rubbing my eyes again – they're not swollen this time, thankfully, and my face is clear of any more tears. "Sort of. Kind of. Perhaps. Most likely."

He tucks a strand of stray hair behind my ear with the utmost sensitivity. "I think you are; you're not someone who wallows for too long."

"That shows how little you know me," I say wryly. "I wallow a lot. You should talk to Alice about it someday."

His smile is no longer a phantom, but a true one, as he says, "Maybe I will."

I take a long, slow, composing sort of breath, and to my delight, I feel the normal-Lily impulses begin to take form once more as I say with more effectiveness, "You'll find out a lot of shit about me if you try it. You know that, don't you?"

"'Course I do," he says. "And if you talk to Sirius someday, he'll give you equally embarrassing information about _me_."

My smile is just as real as his, by this point, as I actually giggle – James is plainly gratified for the gesture, and quite frankly, I am too. It means that I'm okay again; my normal-Lily impulses are back one hundred and five percent. But, there is one more thing that needs my attention before everything on my mind is satiated:

"Just to make sure, you don't think I'm perfect, do you?" I confirm.

He considers. "Your particular imperfections are, to me, quite perfect in themselves," he concludes. "So in a way, yes, I do; but in another way, no, I don't."

"Good enough for me," I say, the look on my face genuine with happiness. "So long as you can acknowledge I'm not an angel or something horrid like that."

He smiles at me for the second time, and strokes my cheek with guarded fingers as he does so. His touch is surprisingly tender – much tenderer than I would have expected, to be honest. My expression melts into placidness as I enjoy his touch, and he can both see and feel the change on me – something that _he_ enjoys.

He then asks me several blissful minutes later, when I'm at my most susceptible to him, "So where does this leave us?"

"I dunno," I say, fighting to regain control of my senses as I look at him.

James thinks on this notion for a couple of moments before answering his own question, "I think that this leaves us somewhere near the beginning again."

This statement wakes me up, despite the lulling fingers of James Potter working their magic on my face – not because it's retarded, like some of his statements can be, but because in this case, he's actually quite right.

"The beginning?"

"Mhmm," he says with a nod. "So, with that being said…" He clears his throat, a mischievous look I know and dread/like in his eyes, and inquires, "Lily Evans, would you like to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

The familiar query inspires a grin to tug at the corners of my mouth as I give the offer a serious deliberation, for what has to be the first time since he first started bombarding me with it. "Yes, I think I would," I finally respond, my grin overcome with shyness now.

He looks about ready to float away to Cloud Nine – naturally, since this has been his wish since he was eleven years old – but he keeps himself on earth without my help (for once) as he smiles his dazzling, James-Potter-esque beam and says in his extraordinary, James-Potter-esque tone, "Cool."

This makes me burst out laughing, a startling feat considering all the crying I've done in the past few minutes, and I allow myself to do the unthinkable – to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him voluntarily. He hugs me back, squeezing me as tightly as he had done when I'd been defenseless, and when he lets me go, it all feels like it's been finished unfairly soon. I usually get this feeling when Alice confiscates my chocolate from me after I gorge on it too much.

However, I do not say any of what I'm feeling, as James begins to wordlessly lead me back down the path we've just walked, back to Hogwarts – it's quite a long one, now that I look back on it. It's also filled with little bumps; I don't know how I got through it all without even noticing.

But, I guess the trick was not to think about what all that I'd been through; I had to keep my eyes forward, pushing for what I knew was important, and never stop walking, even when things got tough for me.

The only time I was ever allowed to return to what I'd left behind was when I'd gotten what I came for – which, in my case, was the human embodiment of everything that was both right and wrong about me; that single personage ready to find me, break me, build me back up, and then carry me to the abyss past the horizon line.

I'd finished this on my own, essentially, but now I had the little extra burst to make myself extraordinary; I'd never thought, when I had so naively started out on this long, twisty path, that this would end up making all the difference in the world.

_And I, I just wanna love you  
Oh, oh I, I just wanna love you  
(I just wanna love you)_

* * *

Later, in the afternoon once James has escorted me back to Gryffindor Tower and dropped me off in the common room, I find Alice waiting for me by the stairs leading to the dormitory. Seeing her there, her stature eagerly awaiting my return, makes him smile down at me.

"I'm guessing you want to be with Alice now?" he presumes.

"Yes," I say, laughing. "She was the one who made me go out and talk to you. She wants to know if she was right about you."

James pulls on his thinking face. "Do you think that she was?"

He means for it to be a light question, and it is, but somehow, I manage to take it much more critically than he intended me to. "I think so," I say seriously. "Alice has always had the unnerving capacity to know exactly what's best for me before I realize it myself."

"Remus does the same for me," James shares. "I mean, Sirius is practically my brother, but he's not big on the discussing-our-feelings topic; Remus is though. Sometimes, I feel like Remus knows me better than anybody else on this planet – including myself."

I grin; I want to talk with him on the matter for longer, but Alice looks like she might wet herself if I don't turn up soon enough. When I explain this, he chuckles easily and goes off to find his friends – in all likelihood, it will be Sirius – and I am left to join Alice by the flight of steps. The moment she catches sight of me, she ushers me over, her eyes alight with interest.

"So? Did you talk to him?" she wants to know as she and I race upstairs together, breathless both from our speed and her curiosity.

"Yes," I say.

"And what did he say?" She nearly trips over both the sentence and the step she tries to jump as she says this.

I wait until we've gotten up to the landing and thrown open our dormitory door to reveal our comfortable, jumping-ready beds inside before I say, "We both said quite a lot."

"Oh, Lily, the details, if you please," she asks animatedly. "Did you forgive each other like I knew you would?"

It takes me a moment to deliberate and come up with the best answer I can for this inquiry. When it comes to me, though, the corners of my mouth come up to form a grin; "Well…if by 'forgiving each other' you mean 'agreed to go to Hogsmeade this weekend,' then I guess we did."

"OH!" Alice shrieks. "You're joking! Sit your arse down and tell me _everything_; you'd better not leave anything out!"

With a smirk, I sit down on my bed as she sits on hers, and we both get comfortable as I clear my throat and start at the beginning of my rather lengthy tale. Alice is, without a doubt, the loveliest girl on the face of this planet; even though it means that I will probably have to talk for about two or three hours straight, I think I want to clue her in.

This is one London-style play-script that I know she won't want to miss.

And, as the story progresses onwards with Alice gasping/laughing/squealing in all the right places, an unconscious smile makes its way across my face – by my modest count, it's been about one hour, twelve minutes, and forty five seconds since I first cornered James Potter in the Great Hall at breakfast time.

That's one hour, twelve minutes, and forty five seconds I've been in his company; how long I've been alive without the name "nearly-ex-Mrs. James-Potter" from the grape vine that I thought had almost choked me a month ago. How long it's crossed my mind to do my homework for the next two weeks. How long I've wanted to confide in Alice for.

How long, I now realize, that the brilliantly explosive London-stage-fit play that was once so confusing has cleared up, to become a coherent tale of love and misunderstanding that actually makes a lot of sense once the details are in place.

The plot is finally coherent, and the main characters have gained a bit of emotional depth – come out of their shells a little bit to become something more than they were ever thought to be.

However, what has stayed the same in both drafts is the ending: it's not exactly a happy one, but the difference this time is that the first one was simply morose, while this one is relaxed. This one is left loosely up to interpretation to the audience, like a string hanging loose from a magnificent sweater, ready to be tied up as it comes, or continued as it comes. Why? Because there really is no defined ending to our tale just yet:

As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

For the past one hour, twelve minutes, and forty five seconds, I've dreamt of nothing but the beauty of James Potter. I'm hoping that both futures will soon start to mutually interlace, like a delicately entwined double helix; that we can learn to stand side by side — neither enemies nor 'just friends' — and make our way through the misty wreaths of what's next to come._ Together._

My smile then turns furtive as I continue my saga and let my still-working time count soar even higher than before; the afternoon is young, but I fear that if I don't get a move on with this story, we will continue well past darkness.

And, I can say with almost one hundred percent conviction that I've had enough time in the dark – it's time to start basking in whatever effervescence life has to offer me.

* * *

**A/N: Ahhh…done at last, lol. So, I hope you liked it, and please do visit the review button on your way out of the browser!**


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